North Korean Blowup

by Chet Cunningham

  NORTH KOREAN BLOWUP

  A President’s Platoon Novel

  Featuring

  A NAVY SEAL TEAM

  by

  CHET CUNNINGHAM

  NORTH KOREAN BLOWUP

  A Chet Book

  Copyright © 2011 by Chet Cunningham

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no portion of this E-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, sound recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  Chet Book Publishers

  8431 Beaver Lake Dr.

  San Diego, CA 92119

  Chetbook@aol.com

  First edition: October 2011

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Asmara, Eritrea

  Africa

  The two Seahawk SB-60s swung low over the East Africa state of Eritrea. The two Navy choppers had come fifty miles inland from the Red Sea with no opposition. But as they circled around the US Embassy in the capital city of Asmara, rifles fired from the ground and several rounds hit the fast flying birds.

  The pilots located the US Embassy compound’s parking lot that had been cleared of cars for the landing. They swooped in and touched down side by side and the sixteen members of the President’s Platoon of U.S. Navy SEALs stormed out of the chopper with weapons slung and tugging drag bags as they charged across the lot to the closest building which turned out to be a ten car garage. Before the SEALs made it to the shelter, the two Seahawks revved up their engines and took off for the flight back to a pair of destroyers that sat two miles off the coast in the Red Sea.

  Lieutenant Ronald Hunter dropped his drag bag filled with ammo and weapons, and watched the last man run into the garage. Hunter was twenty-eight years old stood six feet two and weighed in at two hundred and ten pounds. He was a career Navy man with the academy ring, and had been in the Navy SEALs for six years before he was chosen to head this elite platoon. He counted his seven man squad.

  “Mr. Bancroft, do you have all your men?”

  “Present and accounted for, sir,” Lieutenant (j.g.) Wade Bancroft said. He was twenty six years old, had led a SEAL Platoon in SEAL Team Three in Coronado, California for three years. He was six feet one and weighed a hundred and ninety five pounds.

  A tall black man in a light blue suit hurried up and looked at the brown cammy clad SEALs.

  “Good, it is good that you are here,” he said. “The Ambassador will be pleased. This way, follow me to your quarters. Then we may need some assistance at the front gate.”

  “We can find quarters later,” Hunter said. “Show us to any trouble spots you have. We’re ready to go to work right now.”

  The black face flashed a smile and he saluted. “Yes sir, you must be Lieutenant Hunter. There have been two minor charges at the front gate. You see our wall is high, but the gate is not that high. It is a weak spot. We’re afraid they might bring a car or a truck to crash the gate.”

  He walked away and the SEALs followed falling automatically into squad formation with Alpha first with Hunter leading it and behind came Bravo under Lieutenant Bancroft all with their weapons at the ready. They circled around a large stucco building. Forty yards later they came to a steel grill gate ten feet high that stood in the center of the two hundred foot long concrete block frontage wall. Ten Marines stood at the sides of the decorative but open steel fabricated gate. One of them waved.

  “Damned glad to see you guys,” a man with silver bars on his lapels said. He came forward and saluted. “First Lieutenant Ronkowski, US Marines.”

  Hunter waved at him. “No saluting in a combat situation, lieutenant.” Then he shook the Marine’s hand. “Ron Hunter. Any more ladders in this place? We need more firing positions.”

  Three ladders leaned against the front wall tall enough so a man could stand on the second rung and fire over the top of the concrete blocks.

  The Marine turned. “Stern, Phillips. Go scrounge up any more ladders you can find. Bring back any wooden crates we can stack up to get men up on the wall.”

  Hunter looked at the embassy buildings behind him. Three stores of sturdy construction. It stood thirty yards from the compound wall. No windows on the ground floor and what he figured were bullet proof windows on the second and third floors.

  “Any of those windows open?” Hunter asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Ronkowski said. “I’ll send a man to find out. Yeah, good idea. Get some long shots in from up there with good protection.”

  Bancroft had three of his SEALs climbing the ladders. All three carried Bull Pup 20mm over and under rifles. The lower barrel was a 5.56 size. The 20mm rounds could be laser fired and when the round came to the lasered target, it went off in an air burst. In effect the rounds could be fired so they showered deadly shrapnel down on the reverse side of a hill, or around the corner of a building.

  Hunter motioned Ronkowski with him and they went to the edge of the gate and Hunter looked around. A street led straight away from the gate with what looked like expensive residences on either side. A block down he could see a cross street. Another street ran in front of the embassy compound wall.

  “You’ve had two attacks today,” Hunter said. “Where did the men come from?”

  “They ran out from behind the first houses on each side of the street dead ahead. They made it to within about forty yards. We cut down a bunch of them, but a lucky round killed our thirty caliber Browning machine gun and we don’t have any replacement parts. We beat them back and they took about fifty percent casualties. They came with a white flag later and we let them pick up their dead and wounded. Still lots of dark brown blood stains on the concrete out there.”

  Hunter turned and saw Senior Chief Lenny Chapman. “Chief, put one of our MG’s on each side of the gate but don’t show them yet. Put two men on each of the MG’s with plenty of ammo.”

  Chapman touched his hat and yelled at two men and they quickly put up the H & K 21-E machine guns that fired the 7.62 NATO round. One Marine ran up carrying a 20-foot extension ladder. He positioned it five yards from another ladder and propped it against the wall and ran up the extension to the top of the blocks.

  A Marine returned from a door well to the left of the main entrance. He spoke to his lieutenant who waved at Hunter.

  “Six of the windows on the third floor open, crank out. The ambassador said he’d rather not have anyone firing from the windows.”

  A door to the embassy opened down fifty feet from the main front door and three men came out. The one in front was short and stocky but walked with military precision.

  “That’s the ambassador in front,” Lt. Ronkowski said. “Herman Lewiston. B
ig contributor to the election campaign fund. An ex Marine way back.”

  The men approached the two officers staying well away from the front of the gate.

  “Mr. Ambassador,” Ronkowski said. “This is Lieutenant Ronald Hunter, Navy SEALs.”

  Hunter saluted the ambassador who lifted one hand in response.

  “I don’t want any guns inside the embassy,” Lewiston said.

  “Mr. Ambassador. You were a Marine. Look at the defensive situation. The high ground here is those windows. We need them. We need to put three men up there.”

  “I’d rather they not be there.”

  “Whatever your Marine rank was, or your ambassador rank is, sir, I outrank you. I’m in military command of this compound for the duration of the emergency. I’ll have to order my men up there with or without your permission.”

  The ambassador nodded. “I figured. Wanted to see if you had any balls. Heard about you. Be sure your shooters pick up their brass up there.” The ambassador turned and headed for the far door.

  Hunter looked around. “Dengler, take your sniper rifle and a Bull Pup and get to one of those third floor windows. Be sure your radio is working.

  Hans Dengler, Gunner’s Mate First Class responded. “That’s a Roger, Cap,” Hunter heard in his earpiece. “I better take some extra rounds for the twenty. I’ll get them from the drag bags.”

  “Take a lot, you’ll have company,” Murdock said into his shoulder mike that was voice activated. “Mohammad and Tanner get up to the third floor with Bull Pups,” Hunter said into his mike. “Take about a third of the 20mm rounds we have.” The two men responded, changed weapons for Bull Pups and hurried around to the garage.

  Bancroft had put Harley Jefferson and Curt Gorman on the machine guns. When an attack came he’d send loaders for each weapon. They had the MG’s set up on their front bi-pods and one belt of ammo inserted and a round charged into the chamber. The weapon would fire with a touch on the trigger. Additional belts of 7.62 ammo were stacked near each gun.

  “Tran, get on one of those ladders and scout out the front for us. Anything that moves I want to know about,” Murdock said into his mike.

  “I’m moving,” Boatswain’s Mate Second Class Long Kim Tran responded on his radio.

  Lieutenant Ronkowski stood beside Hunter and shook his head.

  “Damn, wish we had radios like that. Half my time I spend trying to get a man’s attention.”

  “Walden, go to the drag bags and bring the three back-up personal radios that we have. Get out the SATCOM, too, we need to check in with the Admiral.’

  “Aye, Aye, Cap. I’m on my way,” Electrician’s Mate First Class

  Virgil Walden said.

  Hunter looked around. Two Marines with their M-16’s stood on each side of the gate out of any line of fire. Two more were on ladders.

  Lenny Chapman was on one MG and Nelson Foster had the second one. Machinist Mate First Class Phillip Lawrence was on another ladder.

  Two Marines came out of the far door of the embassy each with a two by three foot wooden crate four feet high.

  “A dozen more of them in there,” one of the Marines told his officer. He sent in four men to bring out more of the boxes. They set two of them on top of each other and it was just the right height for a man to fire a weapon over the wall. Soon they had four more firing positions rigged up and Marines manning the wall top.

  “Hey Cap,” Tran said. “I’ve got my six-twenty binoculars on some asshole beside that first house on the left. He’s in some shrubs beside the first house. Want me to send some five sixes his way?”

  “Fire when ready. Might discourage the rest of them.”

  A moment later a three round burst from a 5.56 Bull Pup, jolted into the gentle quiet of the East African afternoon.

  “Got the sombitch,” Tran said. “I think one round went right through the lens of his binocks and dead center into his brains.”

  “Keep watching,” Hunter said.

  Less than a minute later six rounds from the street whispered through the steel front gate grating. One hit the metal and whined off into the distance. The other rounds hit the front door of the embassy, but missed all of the Marines and SEALs who were behind the protection of the wall.

  Bancroft was on one side of the gate near the wall, and Hunter and Ronkowski on the other side.

  “This is the way it started last time,” Ronkowski said. “A few shots, then they moved up behind the houses. Then more than fifty of them charged out into the street and straight for the gate.”

  The spare personal radios came then, and Walden put one on the Marine officer and showed him how it worked. Ronkowski pointed out a Marine sergeant, and Walden ran over and put the radio on him and told him how it worked. Ronkowski turned to the shoulder mike.

  “Sergeant Philbin, do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, Lieutenant. Handy little gadgets.”

  “We’re going to get some. You work the Marines on your side of the gate.”

  “That’s a Roger, Lieutenant.”

  “Bull Pups,” Hunter said to his mike. “If there’s a charge down the street towards the gate, put impact rounds in front of them. That will be most effective.”

  A chorus of responses came in Hunter’s earpiece. He looked around at the defenses. “Windows, you guys in position?”

  “All set, Cap. Cranked out three windows. We’re all three ready with fifteen rounds each.”

  “Roger, windows.”

  “These guys used any RPG’s?” Hunter asked.

  Ronkowski shook his head. “Haven’t seen a one down here. These rebels aren’t very well equipped. Mostly AK-47’s and some old French shooters. They’ve thrown just two grenades. My guess they don’t have many of them.”

  Just then a hand grenade hit the iron gate and dropped outside exploding with a flashing roar with shrapnel sailing through the gate and cutting into a Marine and one SEAL who had stepped back from the wall. Hunter saw McNally go down after the blast.

  “McNally, you hit?” Hunter asked.

  The earpiece came on. “Just a scratch, Cap.”

  “Foster, check out McNally and a Marine who was hit. Get them back from the damned gate.”

  “I’m moving, Cap,” Foster said. The medic ran to McNally and checked his leg. The cammy was ripped open and a slice three inches long in his upper right leg bled like a stuck caribou. Foster opened his medic kit and pulled the wound together with stretch bandages, then put on gauze pads and wrapped it up. McNally went back to the gate and took over the MG Foster had left.

  The medic checked the Marine who had scurried back to the wall. He had only a minor shrapnel cut on his left arm. Foster wrapped it up and went back to his MG.

  “Hey Cap. The Marine is just scratched. McNally has a three inch slash on his leg. Need some stitches when we have time.”

  “We’ve got company,” Tran sang out from his wall perch. “Looks like about a hundred of them charging up the street straight for us.”

  “All weapons cleared to fire,” Hunter barked into his radio. The machine guns at the gate both pushed out with the muzzles through the steel grillwork and chattered off five round bursts at the running men. Three in the front row fell and others stumbled over them. A twenty mm round hit just in front of the line spraying deadly shrapnel straight into the running men. A dozen fell and the others ran around them. The weapons on the wall chattered out a greeting to the rebels.

  The wave of black men firing rifles surged forward. The machine guns slammed out twelve round bursts now and the line of attackers wavered, and then fell back. Two lifted up and threw grenades, but they fell short of the gate. Six more rounds from the twenty mm Bull Pups showered the men with shards of steel. The rebels who still could turned, ran back to the first house, and darted behind the protection as rifle fire followed them picking off a few more.

  “Cease fire,” Hunter said. The weapons went silent except for two Marines. The sergeant with the radio heard, shout
ed at them, and quiet returned to the compound.

  A white flag waved from near one of the houses.

  “Let them come clean up the dead and wounded,” Hunter said to his mike. “They may have had enough for one day.”

  “They knew they had knocked out our MG,” Lt. Ronkowski said. “The two new ones surprised them. I don’t think they’ll try a naked charge again like that.”

  “They must have lost half of their men,” Hunter said.

  “At least twenty are still in the street where they fell,” Ronkowski said. “Now, what about night? Be dark in another two hours.”

  “Any perimeter lights outside the wall?” Hunter asked.

  “No, a few exterior lights inside the compound. They stay on at night.”

  “Cap, you hear that noise?” Tran asked on the radio.

  “What noise?”

  “From the back somewhere. Listen.”

  “Yes, now I hear something.”

  “That’s a tank, Cap. Somebody is coming up behind the compound with a fucking tank.”

  “That’s how they took down the British Embassy,” Lt. Ronkowski said. “Punched a hole in the concrete block wall with a tank they captured from the regular army.”

  “Two ladders down and get to the rear wall with them,” Hunter barked into his radio. “Lieutenant, show us where they are.”

  Three minutes later the men ran around the side of the embassy and to the back wall. It was partly covered with vines, and three trees grew just inside the twelve foot wall.

  “Put up the ladders for Bull Pups. Give me a reading.”

  They could hear the tank plainly now. Hunter figured it was still a quarter of a mile away.

  Tran was first up his ladder. “Cap, we’ve got mostly houses back here, but a street leads right up to the wall. Can’t see the tank yet, but it’s coming. Sound getting louder.”

  “Roger that. Let us know when you see him.”

  Hunter turned to the Marine. “Tran is our lead scout. He can hear a fly walking across a carrot cake at fifty yards.”